Accidents Can Happen
by Diluted Industry
Summary: [Mild-angst only] Zechs is angry at something he over heard and Trieze demands answers. [I didn't really want to summarise this fic, oh well.]


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, settings or scenarios of Gundam Wing. I'm just using them to vent my angsty need.

Notes: I was reading a fic somewhere and it came to a moment where Zechs/Milliardo was reflecting on his life and his sister. This idea just literally just 'popped' into my head. It's rather pointless but I like it. Enjoy!

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**Accidents Can Happen.**

Zechs punched the punch bag full to the zipped brim of sand. He moved on his feet, dancing from one foot to the other, his hands clenched into tight fists of pent up frustration. He jumped back, then up and kicked the swinging bag so hard he could see tears along its seam where the sand that was inside had just started to seep out, landing in a soft, grainy puddle on the mat below.

The OZ Lieutenant donned a pair of simple, plain black pants that would not have seemed out of place in one of those pre-colony martial arts movies. No shirt was on him, nor footwear on his feet. His silver helmet lay forgotten on the bench by the wall to his left. The only thing to grace his body other than the pants he wore, was the black tape that had been wrapped tightly around his wrist and most of his hand.

He threw his head back in an attempt to put marginal order to his less than cooperative blonde locks and growled low in his throat.

Giving the leaking punch bag his undivided attention once again, he launched into yet another round of punches, kicks and often a simultaneous mixture of both. By the time he was through with that particular round, the bag was leaking sand profusely.

He cursed, giving the bag another hard kick. Irritation was at its most high point within him along with frustration, anger, annoyance among a whole list of others. One more kick and the bag was devoid of all sand traces.

"AH!" He roared loudly, his voice echoed off the high gym walls. "Fuck." He whispered, breathing heavily. Energy still coursed through his veins but it was less now than it had been half an hour ago. He sighed and turned around, fully intending to grab a bottle of water and go take a shower. Only he didn't get very far. "Great."

"That's the fifth one this week Zechs." The soft, silky voice of his Excellency Trieze Kushrenada sounded, sounding very amused indeed.

If it had been an option, Zechs would have just ignored his old friend. But it wasn't, so he couldn't just ignore his commanding officer.

"So reprimand me." The lightning count muttered darkly, moving onto the other punch bag that had been set out just so someone wouldn't have to risk coming in while he was inside to change the bust one.

"I'd much rather ask you why I've had to place an early order for more punch bags to the training equipment suppliers." The colonel of OZ said with a smile as he moved to take a seat beside his officer's helmet.

"Because it's really going to stretch OZ's budget." Zech retorted and began punching the second bag, throwing in a kick here and there. "If it irks you that much, deduct the cost from my bank account." He punched the bag hard with his right fist. "If we're done here, I'd prefer to be alone while I reduce the numbers in my next bank statement." A kick and another three hard punches.

"We're not done, Zechs. Not by a long shot." Trieze said. "I would like to know what has gotten into you lately." The statement wasn't a question but it was silently asking for an answer anyway. When none came, the Colonel sighed. "Zechs..."

"Enough Trieze! Goddamn you! Just shut the fuck up! Please!" Zechs near shouted at his superior officer. Said officer sat stunned in his seat, unable to believe that Zechs, the man he'd called friend since he was a teenager, had just told him to shut up.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Trieze demanded, now standing tall and every inch the Colonel his title claimed him to be. Zechs wasn't phased though. He wasn't even looking. He had returned to the punch bag. "Zechs look at me now!" He demanded but his Lieutenant refused to stop hitting the bag. With a growl, Trieze reached for his hip, unclipped the gun that rested in the holster there, aimed and fired.

The punch bag dropped to the floor with a loud 'thud'.

Only then, did Zech grace the Colonel with a look. If one could call a split-seconds worth of a sideward glance, a look.

"Come on Zechs, give me a little help here. What the hell it wrong? Why are you acting like this?" He re-sheathed his gun and clipped it firmly in place. "I've been approached by two members of your squadron a total of four times this week alone. You better tell me what's wrong with you Zechs or-"

"Or what, Trieze?" The blonde OZ Soldier spun around to face his commanding officer. "Or what? What will you do if I don't tell you what's wrong? Assign me to sentry duty all week? No, wait, I've got it. Assign me to baby-sit those god forsaken, fresh out of fucking school rookies? Oh, hold on, you've already got me doing that!" He exclaimed, complete with a sweeping hand gesture.

Trieze blinked.

"Something has obviously upset you. I want to know what. Now, sit down." When Zechs didn't move, Trieze growled. "Now!" He said sharply and reluctantly, the Lightning Count took a seat on the bench beside his helmet while the Colonel took the other side. "Now talk." He said, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

"You know what school your 'new generation of OZ' came from? Well, a good portion of them anyway?" Zechs asked after a number of tense, silent minutes. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back so it leant against the wall.

"They came from a number of schools around the globe." Trieze offered.

"10 of them came from St. Gabriel's."

"St. Gabriel's?"

"Yes. And do you want to know this really 'hot chick' they all collectively jerk off while in the showers thinking about is?" He asked, eyes still closed and head still back.

"I want to know. Tell me Zechs."

The blonde chuckled mirthlessly. "Relena Dorlain." His chuckling turned into a crazed bark of laughter. "You want to know something else?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "They each explain what they'd get her to do if they had the chance. Hell, a few of them said they've had her already!"

"Dorlain? The Vice-Foreign Minister's daughter?" The Colonel questioned and instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say as his officer and close friend stiffened in his position.

"Oh yes, 'his' daughter. Dear Vice-Foreign Minister Dorlain. His precious little girl." Zechs spat. Trieze was extremely confused.

"What are you talking about Zechs?" He asked.

"The Minister, has no daughter, Trieze. He has no little girl to call his own. Not by blood. No blood bond between those two. His wife too! Dear Relena, is adopted. And do you want to know who she once was?" Trieze was starting to think he didn't want to know but if it would help Zechs get out of the rut he'd put himself in, he'd be willing to listen.

"Who?"

"A Princess. She was a Princess among the lands of the Golden Sunrise." Zechs breathed. "A Princess she was. Just as I, was once, her Princeling brother." He ended on a whisper. Trieze's eyes were wide with shock.

"Peacecraft." He said softly.

"Relena Peacecraft, sister to Milliardo Peacecraft, aka Zechs Marquise, OZ Lieutenant and the Lightning Count, heir to the Sanc Kingdom." He laughed another mirthless laugh. "I bet those soldiers would run and hide under the nearest beam cannon if they knew the girl they'd been fantasising about and describing in great detail was my dear sister."

Despite himself, Trieze snorted a light laugh.

When Zechs put it like that, the Colonel was hard-pressed not to find it amusing.

"The next time you hear them talking about her, simply tell them you would rather not hear about their exploits, however false they might be." Zechs rolled his eyes. He was still angry, but not overly so anymore.

"And when they decide to start jibing at me, telling me that I am in fact, 'into her'... Do I have authorisation to hit them?" He reluctantly let a small grin curve on his lips. Beside him he heard his friend laugh.

"No. I cannot allow that, as you well know." The Colonel rose gracefully from his seat with Zechs following suit. The pair walked towards the entrance/exit doors of the gym in comfortable silence. "But you know as well as I, that on the sparring mat, accidents can happen."

Despite himself, Zechs threw his head back and laughed.

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**Written by Diluted Industry.**


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